When He Thinks That I'm Not Looking
by ShadowElfBard
Summary: Debbie Broots thinks about her father, and the things that she's learned over the years.


Disclaimer: You figure it out.

Rating: PG

Summary: Debbie Broots thinks about her father, and the things that she's learned over the years.

Feedback: Feedback to me is as valuable and precious as sight to a blind man.

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**                                             _When He Thinks That I'm Not Looking_**

My father is brilliant. I don't say this in the casual manner that some of the kids at school do, like 'my dad rocks' or 'my parents are the best'. I don't intend for this to be taken as a child's lie to gain respect among friends, or to show off my dad. I believe, truly and completely, that he is brilliant. If you think otherwise, then you've never seen him work.

   But even brilliance has its faults it seems. For a person can be a genius, can know nearly everything there is to know about gobs and gobs of information, and still have the one trait, the one small flaw, that causes it to crumble to pieces.

   Naiveté

The destroyer of worlds, the demolisher of empires, and the slayer of kings. Yes, my father has it, the disease of obliviousness. The 'blind eye' that causes one to miss things that should be as obvious and noticeable as a tornado on your own front lawn. My dad, brilliant though he is, has not been able to overcome it, and it's caused him to miss something that he should have been aware of two years ago.

   For you see, I know what he does.

   I know where he goes every morning, what he works on at that 'corporation' down the road. I know why he gives me half-hearted smiles that try to veil the pain he feels when he returns home, and I know the cause of that ache he tries to hide. I've known for exactly two years, one month, and nineteen days. I didn't know nearly as much as I do now in the beginning, but then again, who does at such an early stage? But it's all pieced together bit by bit, or, in this case, byte by byte. 

   If he didn't spend so much time there, if his mind was free enough from the yoke that those people have put on it, he'd have noticed that my skill with computers was growing. He'd have noticed that I snuck computer books of his to learn more and more, and that I tried many various codes and basic technological 'tricks' on my laptop while he was away. He'd have realized that I've known how to get past his passwords and home computer security set-up for the past thirteen months. 

   I've used this knowledge many times, all of them when he was too busy, or at work, and it has been perhaps the single greatest reason that I now know as much as I do about his 'job'. In the beginning, when I'd first got wind that there was something… odd, about his occupation, I'd had to search for data manually. I'd had to go through pieces of paper he'd crumpled and thrown away, or left on the kitchen table while he went to the bathroom. It had been a long and meticulous process, and had carried with it many obstacles that had made it hard to put together anything truly solid. All ideas I'd had at that point had been fragmented, and it had been like looking into a broken mirror, the image broken and distorted.

   But then had come the day when I'd broken his computer's defenses, and when I'd begun to search my own father's folders and files for the facts I hunted, I'd been met with nothing but pure, unadulterated success. 

   My learning had gone much swifter and smoother then, and I came to know the main character's in the twisted little game my father is forced to play. I came to know more of the people I'd met before, along with the horrors of the Centre itself. I learned why my father's is frightened of Raines, why Ms. Parker is so cold and unreachable, why sadness lurks in Sydney's kind gaze, and the sickening things that makes Mr. Lyle who he is. I came to know of Angelo, the tortured and suffering creation of a little boy who'd been misshapen and contaminated by Raines. And I'd learned of the very heart of it all, Jarod. Yes, Jarod. The genius, the master mind, the boy in a man's body who's experienced more pain and torment then anyone I've ever heard of. 

   But worst of all, I'd learned of my own father. I was taught by the secret documents stored on his computer of his role in all of this, and what his work truly entailed. I'll admit at first I was angry, furious if truth be told, and I'd felt a primal urge to just go down to that hell hole, and demand an explanation as to why he works in the place he does, and why he uses his extraordinary talents and gifts to hunt down an innocent man. I've come close to it, I've thought so long and hard about it, but I've never gone through with it. In the end, I knew that I never truly had to. I know my father, which is a claim that not many can make, and I know his soul. He wouldn't be mixed up in this, and remain within it, unless there was no other choice. 

   And so I've stayed quiet, and I've acted the part of the blind, happy daughter, not knowing or caring what her father does for a living, accepting his excuses for not talking of his career, and uncomplaining of his short little answers that reveal nothing when I ask of his day and what it involved.

   Yes, my father is brilliant. But sometimes his naiveté gets in the way, and sometimes I can't help but wonder how it is that he can sit across the table from me at dinner, thinking that I don't see his frustration, his depression, and the pang of hopelessness that cloud his eyes. 

   I'll keep my secret, and I'll let him think that he's keeping his, and that he's keeping me safe by not letting me know where he goes and what he does. I'll let him try to hide his feelings, and let him slip on the lies he makes. And I'll let him keep his delusions that I never see the tears he cries when he thinks that I'm not looking.

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Hope you liked it, hope that I presented a good view of Debbie Broots, and I pray to god that I'll get some reviews. So…. Please review!!!


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